


Her 99+1

by inasentimentalmood



Category: Brooklyn Nine-Nine (TV), Elementary (TV)
Genre: AU Crossover, F/M, Fluff, Found Family Feels, Inspired By Tumblr, Platonic Soulmates
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-19
Updated: 2016-02-19
Packaged: 2018-05-21 14:11:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,388
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6054523
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/inasentimentalmood/pseuds/inasentimentalmood
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>“There’s this thing,” she begins, averting her gaze, “a wedding.” He stares at her blankly. “I was wondering if—”</i><br/><i>“If I would be your man candy for the night,” he rejoins, as the circuit board sparks and sputters out again.</i><br/>Joan asks Sherlock to be her plus one to Amy and Jake's wedding, and lives to regret it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Her 99+1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [fattyfat](https://archiveofourown.org/users/fattyfat/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Elementary AU: Joan and Sherlock as consulting detectives for the NYPD’s 99th Precinct in Brooklyn](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/177151) by flapperorslapper. 



> This gift is two years overdue. ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯

Sparks fly and sizzle as Sherlock tests the nodes of an electrical circuitry experiment at the kitchen table. He frowns before grabbing the appropriate tools to tweak the design. “You’re doing it again, Watson, _lurking_ ,” he states in a slightly exasperated tone, speaking at the circuit board before him rather than putting an effort into directly addressing her. She is standing in the hallway, looking unsure of herself, and holding a piece of correspondence recently received in her right hand. “Well?” he beckons. He knows that whenever she needs to ask some sort of favor from him she has a tendency to hover as she builds up the nerve to make the actual request.

Watson begins to sputter a reply as she sits down opposite him, laying the invitation on the table in plain sight. His eyes travel to it briefly before he returns to focusing on the task at hand. “There’s this thing,” she begins, averting her gaze, “a wedding.” He stares at her blankly. “I was wondering if—”

“If I would be your man candy for the night,” he rejoins, as the circuit board sparks and sputters out again. Joan immediately regrets broaching the subject. This was a stupid idea. She gets up to leave, and considers if inviting Bell would be a better option.

To her surprise, Sherlock, desirous of continuing the conversation, abandons his tinkering to address her brightly. “You mistake me, Watson. I’m not altogether opposed to the idea, merely trying to clarify the purpose of this outing. Correct me if I am wrong.” She rolls her eyes. I mean, who even uses the term “man candy” anymore?  

“You would be coming with me _as my friend_. No need to… _impress_.” He arches his brows and pouts; he was already creating a new persona as Joan’s dashing fake beau, but alas, not to be. He doesn’t prompt her for further details but she gives them anyway. “It’s a couple of detectives I consulted with while you were in London with MI6. They’re from a neighboring precinct.” 

He quickly pulls his phone out of his front pocket, fiddles with it momentarily and stashes it. “I’ve got it on my calendar, Watson,” he announces before resuming his work.

Joan has a sinking feeling that this is not going to go well.

\--------

The matching heels that Amy picked out for her bridesmaids pose no challenge to Gina and Rosa, as they stand in proper formation at the front of the church, awaiting her walk down the aisle. Both are accustomed to the familiar pinching pain that is beginning at their toes and will only worsen as the night goes on. The dresses, however, are another story. They are tastefully drab, conservative and _mauve_. Santiago wasn’t picked “most appropriate” of her high school for nothing.

Gina is scanning the crowd. She knows the dress is bad but if anyone can pull it off as sexy, she knows it’s her. There are bound to be several eligible bachelors in the audience who would have noticed by now. Her hunt is cut short, however, as she discovers Joan Watson in the audience. “Psst, Rosa,” Gina hisses out of the side of her mouth. “Joan’s here. How does my hair look?” She takes one hand from her ribbon-wrapped floral bouquet to primp her loose curls. Gina had always prized herself on her effortless beauty but in Joan Watson she had found someone whose effortlessness matched, perhaps even surpassed her own. Her hair was _always_ on point. It was infuriating!

Rosa gives Gina a pointed side-eye. “Fine,” is the conclusion of her cursory assessment. She, too, spies Joan in the crowd and raises her head in a curt nod to acknowledge her. Joan nods and waves in return. Seeing Joan reminds her to ask her later for Alfredo’s phone number. She had meant to ask when they were working together on the Pontiac Bandit case. Alfredo was sexy as hell and she wanted to take him for a ride on her motorcycle, amongst other things. These daydreams were interrupted, however, as the processional music began and Amy made her way towards them, accompanied by her father.

\--------

“I dare say that was the first wedding I have attended which included an impromptu rap battle,” Sherlock comments sarcastically, straightening his tie as he and Watson shuffle their way out of their pew to exit the church. “The fellow who initiated it, you said his name was Boyle?”

“He and Jake have a flair for the dramatic,” Watson explains dismissively. Sherlock detects a level of warmth and familiarity in the way she talks about them. It bothers him. “I thought it was cute,” she adds. _Hm_ , is all that Sherlock can muster in response, along with a noncommittal frown. Based on what he has deduced about the nine-nine during the ceremony, he is stymied as to why Joan would have chosen to consult with such a motley band of detectives. He doesn’t understand what she sees in them.

“Watson, exactly _how_ many occasions warranted your consultation with these detectives? They must not have made a terribly notable impression on you, seeing as you have not once called upon their knowledge or expertise since my return to New York.” He pauses. “And yet they must be _exceedingly fond_ of you to invite you to today’s festivities, so long after your professional collaboration has run its course. Nay, the degree of their fondness for you must be altogether unsurpassable, as they have also allowed you the liberty of bringing me as your _plus one_.” It doesn’t make sense.

“They’re my friends.”

“Oh, so they are your friends, not your colleagues. I see. They are the kind of people whom you contact for social gatherings, convivial events and the like, but you’ll admit plainly, their detective skills are wanting. As professionals they are not your equals.”  He holds the cab door open for her to be seated first as they head upstate for the reception.

“That’s not what I said. Wh—are you _jealous_?” Her eyes narrow at him suspiciously.

“Hm? Come again?” Holmes feigns with an innocent expression. He then grows serious, almost sulky. “I am merely trying to understand, Watson. That’s all.”

\--------

As it is customary for the bride and groom to greet and visit with each table group at their reception, Jake and Amy are slowly making their way across the reception hall hugging and exchanging small talk with their myriad guests. At regular intervals their wedding photographer politely prompts them for a group photo at each table, capturing the two mandatory poses: (1) normal with everyone smiling and (2) an action shot with everyone jumping in mid-air (the second pose per Jake’s explicit request).

As they reach table 17, Jake and Amy’s faces immediately light up. “Joanie! How have you been??” Jake exclaims, diving in for a hug. “Ms. Watson, I’m so glad you could make it,” Amy greets her more deferentially, though, after an initial offer of a handshake, she concedes to hug her as well. Joan expresses warm congratulations to the happy couple before introducing Sherlock to them. “We’ve heard great things about you, sir,” Amy admits, shaking his hand.

“Yes, definitely,” Jake jumps in, with an exaggerated and moderately crazed smile on his face. As he shakes Sherlock’s hand with enthusiasm he manages to corner him away from the other guests at the table. Jake has been eagerly awaiting this moment to talk to _the_ Sherlock Holmes that Watson has so often spoken of. Immediately he lowers his voice to a conspiratorial tone. “Hey man, I’ve been working on this undercover character, Rex Buckingham,” he begins, as he launches into an in-depth interrogation of Sherlock regarding the nuances of Britishness, so as to perfect Buckingham’s persona absolutely. Without any further encouragement he even proposes that Sherlock be his on-call dialect coach for the next time he busts Rex out for a case. “Think about it!” he blurts, double-pointing to Sherlock as a bro, as he rejoins the table, greeting his other guests. Sherlock merely raises an eyebrow and resumes his post at Watson’s side. He grudgingly jumps a couple inches for the mandatory second group photo, hands in his pockets. This has been a most peculiar evening.

\--------

The sound of flatware hitting against a flute glass causes a hush to descend over the reception party as Captain Raymond Holt clears his throat at the mic. “Yes, hello,” he begins casually, casting a glance at Peralta and Santiago. “My name is Captain Raymond Holt and I have been asked to give a toast.” Jake is smiling with his arm around Amy who is sitting with ramrod straight posture and an eager expression on her face. They are fanned at the head table on either side by their wedding party, the groomsmen looking a bit unkempt in their cream-colored suits and the bridesmaids—one bridesmaid in particular, Gina—texting on her phone.

Holt’s grandiose baritone booms through the entire hall. “‘Mawwage… is what bwings us togevva.’” There is no immediate response. He nods his head slightly and pauses. “That is a line from the movie _A Princess Bride_ , which, in preparation for this speech, I discovered is a favorite of _both_ Peralta _and_ Santiago.” He raises his glass in acknowledgment of them as they smile back awkwardly. Holt is clearly pleased by his own cleverness. Sargent Jeffords can be seen in the background, raising his hands to his face in humiliation. He knew he should have vetted Holt’s speech earlier.

Holt’s expression turns sober. “But all joking aside, I must speak in earnest. Over the past few years, these two detectives have demonstrated both individually and collectively, a determination, a doggedness, a persistence and a resourcefulness in their work that, I believe, will benefit them greatly in marriage. They are… a fitting match. I could not be happier that these two _exemplary_ people have found, in their work partner, a partner for life. To Jake and Amy,” he concludes simply, raising his glass and taking a sip of the pale carbonated wine drink (Jake’s choice).

“Hear, hear!” Boyle cries exuberantly, rising jerkily from his seat. In the process of getting up so fast he has spilled his drink all over himself and knocked down a large floral centerpiece as well. He looks about himself dejectedly. “ _Aw man!_ ”

“Did you hear that??!” Amy nearly screams out to Jake. “He called me exemplary!!” She gulps down her fake champagne looking mildly manic but Jake’s expression toward her is all subdued adoration. His feet are already throbbing from her many missteps in their first dance (a beginner’s salsa) but to him, it’s totally worth it.

\--------

The reception is beginning to wind down as DJ Boyle begins to play slow jams exclusively. He has been waiting patiently most of the night to play his favorite song, “Kokomo.”

As Sherlock had adamantly refused to participate in the “mass gyrations” on the dance floor that accompanied the previous hour-long block of dubstep and declined resolutely to humor Jake’s short-lived ineptly discordant klezmer record-spinning with any “rhythmic movement” of his own either, Joan rather was surprised when he agreed with her presently to a slow dance. “I find _this_ kind of social ritual to be soothing and rather hypnotic, even. Perhaps I might achieve a trance-like state good enough to mimic beta waves, which stimulate heightened concentration, as you well know. I might just solve a case or two by the conclusion of this banal song.” Joan simply grabs him by the hand and drags him to a standing position before he changes his mind. “Also, I might add, it requires no skill whatsoever.” She has grown accustomed to his constant chatter and commentary, but sometimes it gets to be a bit much. He stands a bit stiffly with one hand placed respectfully on her waist, the other held out for her hand to grasp. He hunches his shoulders in an attempt to compensate for their height difference, but it doesn’t do much to give her any better visibility. She opts to rotate her head sideways, resting it lightly on Sherlock’s chest and looking out towards their clasped hands. They shuffle around a bit, matching the rhythm of the beat as the Beach Boys sing on. She thinks this may be one of the most normal, conventional things they have done together, ever.

Sherlock speaks to her quietly, discreetly, since the dance has afforded them a rare physical proximity to one another. His tone is softly contrite. “I may have been mistaken regarding my initial judgments of _your_ _friends_.” He casts his eyes about the dance floor warily; she is all ears. “Let’s run through the specifics, shall we? I find Holt to a consummate professional. Jeffords: earnest. Diaz: aggressive and smart. Santiago: driven. Peralta: goofy but kind. Linetti: vain yet seemingly indispensable. I’ll admit, they do have a certain _charm_.”

Joan smirks and wonders if he can perceive it. Perhaps, according to his theory, she is subconsciously communicating to him in a haptic way, _I told you so_. He has admitted that, yes, she saw something legitimate and valuable in them that he, at first glance, did not. The instances may be somewhat few and far between, but there are times, indeed, when her intuition bests his deduction. As this is one such instance, she is taking it all in, relishing it.

 _Everybody knows a little place like Kokomo_  
Now if you want to go and get away from it all  
Go down to Kokomo

There is little time for Watson to gloat, however. Her thoughts are interrupted by an interjecting _ahem_ from a third party. She swivels her head 180 degrees to face an impatient Gina with arms crossed.

“So are you going to hog this _man candy_ all night or what? Scoot.” Joan defers wordlessly, almost in shock. “Hold this,” she commands Sherlock, as she places her cell phone between their clasped hands. She sizes him up with confidence and determination, falling seamlessly into the rhythm of the dance, not taking her eyes from him.

“HA!” Sherlock shouts out triumphantly, glaring at Joan. He has “impressed” after all.

She buries her face in her hand and groans. An ego boost. This is just what Sherlock needs.

She’s sure she will never hear the end of it.


End file.
